Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

much tonight. Take good care of my little sister," I begged the heavens.
    Louella came knocking on my door.
    "The Captain's . . . the Captain's in his seat at the dinner table," she said. "He's waiting to say a special prayer before the meal."
    "Who can eat?" I cried. "How can they think of food at a time like this?" Louella didn't answer. She pressed her hand to her mouth and turned away for a moment, gathered herself and looked at me again. "You better come down, Miss Lillian."
    "What about Eugenia?" I asked, my voice so thin I thought it would crack over every word.
    "The Captain's had the undertakers come and dress her in her own room where she will lay until the burial. The minister will be here in the morning to conduct a prayer vigil."
    Without bothering to wash my tear-streaked face, I followed Louella out and down the stairs to the dining room, where I found Mamma, dressed in black, her face as white as a sheet, her eyes closed, sitting and rocking softly in her chair. Emily was wearing a black dress too, but Papa hadn't changed from his earlier clothes. I sank into my seat.
    Papa bowed his head and Mamma and Emily did the same. So did I.
    "Lord, we thank you for our blessings and hope you will take our dearly departed daughter into your bosom. Amen," he said quickly, and reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes. My mouth gaped open.
    That was all? We had sat there and listened to prayers and Bible readings sometimes for nearly twenty minutes to a half hour before we could eat. And that was all to be said on Eugenia's behalf before Papa reached for the food and we began being served? Who could eat anyway? Mamma took a deep breath and smiled at me.
    "She's at rest now, Lillian," she said. "She's finally at peace. No more suffering. Be happy for her."
    "Happy? Mamma, I can't be happy," I cried. "I can't ever be happy again!"
    "Lillian!" Papa snapped. "There'll be no hysterics at the dinner table. Eugenia suffered and fought and God has decided to take her from her misery and that's that. Now eat your dinner and behave like a Booth, even though—"
    "Jed!" Mamma cried.
    He looked at her and then at me.
    "Just eat in peace," he said.
    "You were going to say even though I'm not a Booth, weren't you, Papa? That's what you were going to tell me," I accused, risking his anger.
    "So?" Emily said, smirking. "You're not a Booth. He's not telling any lies."
    "I don't want to be a Booth if it means forgetting Eugenia so quickly," I declared defiantly.
    Papa reached across the table and slapped me across the face so quickly and so hard, I nearly flew out of the chair.
    "JED!" Mamma screamed.
    "That's enough!" Papa said, rising. At the moment, glaring down at me angrily, he looked twice his size. "You damn well better be happy you're bearing the Booth name. It's a proud, historic name and it's a gift you will always appreciate or I'll send you packing to a school for orphan girls, hear? Hear?" Papa repeated, shaking his finger at me.
    "Yes, Papa."1 said it in a flat way, but the pain was still in my eyes and I was sure that was all he saw. "She should say she's sorry," Emily said.
    "Yes, you should," Papa agreed.
    "I'm sorry, Papa," I said. "But I can't eat. May I be excused? Please, Papa."
    "Suit yourself," he said, sitting down.
    "Thank you, Papa," I said, and got up quickly. "Lillian," Mamma called as I turned from the table. "You'll be hungry later."
    "No, I won't, Mamma."
    "Well, I'm just eating a little, just so I won't be hungry," she explained. It was as if the tragedy had turned the clock back years and years and her mind was now that of a little girl's. I couldn't be angry at her.
    "All right, Mamma. I'll talk to you later," I said, and hurried away, grateful for the chance to escape.
    Outside the dining room, I turned toward Eugenia's room out of habit, but I didn't stop myself. I went to her doorway and looked in. The only light came from a tall candle set behind and above Eugenia's head. I saw the undertakers had dressed her in one of her black dresses. Her hair was brushed down neatly around her face, which was as white as the candle. Her hands were on her stomach and between them, she held a Bible. She did look at peace. Maybe Papa was right; maybe I should be happy she was with God.
    "Good night, Eugenia," I whispered. Then I turned and ran up to my room, fleeing to the welcoming darkness and the relief that came with sleep.
     
    The minister was the first to arrive early the next morning, but as the day